Emery’s POV
The night of the gala arrives like a verdict.
I sit at my vanity while Harmony works a curling iron through the last section of my hair, neither of us speaking much. The mirror reflects a woman I'm still learning to recognize—composed, controlled, ready for war.
Behind me, the dress hangs from the closet door. Midnight blue. Elegant. Armor disguised as silk.
Harmony meets my eyes in the mirror, her hands stilling on my shoulders. Something shifts in her expression—the careful weight of news she's been holding back.
"There's one more thing," she says quietly. "From the staff network."
"Tell me."
"A journalist from a major outlet. Gregory Courtland." She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "He was personally briefed by someone in Portia's circle. He knows exactly where you'll be sitting, what you'll be wearing, who you'll be photographed with."
"And?"
"He'll be watching you all night." Her voice drops lower. "Waiting for a misstep to immortalize."
I absorb this without flinching. Another piece of the puzzle sliding into place, another weapon aimed at my head. The information settles into me like all the others—cold, hard, useful.
"Thank you," I say. "For everything you've done."
Harmony squeezes my shoulder once, then releases me. "You've got this."
She slips from the room, leaving me alone with my reflection. I finish my makeup in silence—foundation, concealer, the careful construction of a face that reveals nothing. Each brushstroke is deliberate. Each line of eyeliner is a declaration.
I reach for my necklace, a simple pearl drop that belonged to my grandmother, and I'm about to clasp it when the door opens without a knock.
Lily stands in the frame, already dressed in emerald green that makes her look like a serpent preparing to strike. Her eyes travel over me with thinly veiled contempt, cataloging every detail.
"Well," she says, leaning against the doorframe. "You clean up better than expected."
"What do you want, Lily?"
"Just came to offer some sisterly advice." She pushes off the frame and strolls into my space uninvited. "You should smile more tonight. You always look like you're attending a funeral."
I set down the necklace and turn to face her, my expression carefully neutral. "Thank you for your concern."
"I mean it." She examines her manicure with studied boredom. "Marian's speech will be the highlight of the evening. Everyone will be watching. It would be embarrassing if Landon's wife looked sullen during it."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Will you?" She meets my eyes, and I see the cruelty lurking beneath her polished surface. "Because from what I've heard, you have a habit of making things uncomfortable. All those little outbursts. All that paranoia about people plotting against you."
"Is there a point to this visit?"
She smirks, then glances toward the nursery door where Elsie sleeps peacefully, oblivious to the war being waged over her future. Something predatory enters her expression.
"The baby is sweet," she says casually. "I hope she inherits her father's temperament rather than her mother's. It would be such a shame if she grew up to be... difficult."
My hands are still on the vanity.
The rage that rises in me is cold and absolute—not the hot flash of anger that leads to mistakes, but something deeper. More dangerous. The kind of fury that settles into bone and waits.
I stand slowly, turning to face her fully. My voice comes out quiet, steady, utterly controlled.
"Lily." I take a step toward her, watching her smirk waver. "You can say whatever you want about me. You can whisper in corridors and plant stories and play whatever games make you feel powerful."
She blinks, uncertain now.
"But you will never mention my daughter again." I hold her gaze without blinking. "Not her temperament. Not her future. Not a single word about who she might become."
"I was just—"
"Do you understand me?"
The silence stretches between us. Something in my expression must finally communicate what words cannot, because Lily's smile falters completely. For the first time since I've known her, she looks genuinely unsettled.
"You're overreacting," she manages, but her voice lacks conviction.
"Am I?"
She opens her mouth, closes it, then turns on her heel and walks out without another word. Her footsteps echo down the corridor, rapid and retreating.
I stand motionless for a long moment, letting my heartbeat slow. Then I return to the vanity and clasp the necklace around my throat with steady hands.
The woman in the mirror looks back at me. Ready.
I hear Landon's footsteps before I see him. When he appears in the doorway, he stops mid-step, his eyes traveling over me with an expression that makes my breath catch.
"My God," he says softly. "You look stunning."
I rise from the vanity and cross to him, reaching up to straighten his tie. The silk is smooth beneath my fingers, expensive and perfectly pressed. He stands still under my touch, watching my face with something between admiration and uncertainty.
"Whatever happens tonight," I say quietly, smoothing the fabric against his chest, "I need you to trust me."
His brow furrows. "Trust you how?"
"Just trust me." I look up at him, letting him see the steel beneath my composure. "Whatever they throw at us, whatever games they play—I need to know you're with me."
"I'm always with you." His hands find my waist, pulling me closer. "But you're scaring me a little. What are you planning?"
Instead of answering, I rise onto my toes and kiss him softly. He responds immediately, one hand sliding up my back to cup the nape of my neck. For a moment, there's nothing else—no gala, no enemies, no war waiting in a ballroom full of people who want to see me fall.
Just us.
When I pull back, his eyes search mine with questions I'm not ready to answer.
"Let's go," I say. "We shouldn't be late."
We walk to the car together, fingers intertwined. The estate passes in a blur of manicured hedges and carefully placed lights, the whole machine of Remington wealth on display even in the darkness.
I watch it shrink behind us through the rearview mirror—the house that tried to swallow me whole, the walls that witnessed my disappearance, the empire that thinks it can break anyone who challenges it.
I don't know exactly what Marian and Portia have prepared. I don't know which carefully orchestrated moments are designed to make me crack.
But I know one thing with absolute certainty.
I will not break.
Not tonight. Not ever again.